Weirdfiction Stories

A dying town launches a rebranding campaign that no one seems to be running. The billboards appear overnight. The slogans don't explain themselves. A diner waitress says nobody puts them up, and nobody takes them down. A couple arrives expecting ironic tourism and finds something closer to a live experiment. Beauchêne doesn't ask visitors to believe anything. It only asks them to stay. To notice. To participate. What begins as small-town decay becomes a slow, sideways unraveling... murals that feel instructional, civic programs that behave like dares, and a town that seems increasingly aware of the people passing through it. A surreal, slow-burn satire about American decline, anti-branding, and the strange comfort of entropy. Meaning doesn't collapse here. It rebrands. Entropy is a vibe. Decline tastes like caramel. Welcome to Beauchêne. You're here now.

Some things hide in the dark. Others are waiting for you to turn on the light. A dog catches a goblin inside his home. A creature feeds on the resentment growing between two lovers. A man discovers that death may not be the worst thing waiting for him. Somewhere in the night, forgotten beings watch, hunger, remember-and occasionally knock. THE SILENCE HAS TEETH is a collection of twelve strange tales about grief, guilt, impossible creatures, fractured minds, and the thin places where reality begins to bleed. Written for those who have never entirely trusted the darkness. New story every Sunday. Read with the door closed.

When Maria Frizridge discovers that her once peaceful town is having a parade by a passing circus. She was instantly filled with curiosity. Yet as the day comes to an end, she spots the very same circus in the forest just out of town. She approaches, expecting maybe a nice chat or maybe a signature. What she didn't expect was to get trapped inside it, or, more accurately, her mind. In order for herself not to fade, she works for the odd and mysterious ringmaster, Ron. Slowly, she gets used to the circus life, and maybe even finds sparks between her and Ron's companionship. But as she discovers occult behaviors, an impossible maze below it, and the increasingly weird things that happen around Ron. She realizes. Something is wrong with the circus. Something forgotten, something ancient. (message to Royal road staff: Yes, I'm the same author. Yes, this story will be on royal road.)

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In the autumn of 1968, folklorist Callum Voss arrives in the isolated town of Oakhaven - a place that appears on no map and feels older than the forest surrounding it. When a colossal monolith emerges from the trees, carved with shifting faces and impossible angles, Callum is drawn into a century‑old cycle of memory, decay, and cosmic hunger. As time fractures and the town begins to unravel, Callum must confront the one memory he's tried to bury: the sister he left behind. Because in Oakhaven, nothing is ever forgotten. And the Century always collects its due.

This wild mixture of martial arts, weird fiction, and visceral body horror follows an MMA fighter who struggles against dark magic to maintain his soul, even as he becomes a monster.

Lillian is on a rather simple journey, when a train derailment while in the void between cities complicates matters quite dramatically. Dieselpunk, Weird Fiction

Ziggy Hamantaschen Widdershins XX is a long Furby with a passionate-perhaps slightly unhealthy-obsession with all things Walgreens. No one can explain why he loves it so much, though experts worldwide have tried and failed to uncover the reason. Sure, he can pick up his mother's dementia medication, nibble absent‑mindedly on Ghirardelli, or play sudoku with Velgar the shadow demon in the snack aisle-yet there remains no single, concrete explanation. Join me-the chronicler of Ziggy's strange existence and author of this biography-on a wonderfully weird journey through the life of Siegfried Hamantaschen Widdershins XX, Walgreens' most devoted disciple. SEQUEL (of sorts) COMING SOON! EXPECT THE FIRST CHAPTERS BY OCTOBER!

📄 Series Description (In Voice of Lord Stabs-a-Lot): > Hello Future Fans, Critics, and Possibly My Parole Officer! I am Lord Stabs-a-Lot, Grandmaster of Gentle Mishaps and Self-Appointed Archbishop of the Rotting West Wing. This is my journal, memoir, opera script, spiritual weather report, and emergency confession - all written with enthusiasm and suspicious fluids. What you hold is not just a story. It is an expression of joy, like laughter during surgery, or singing during an exorcism. I lived in a lovely white hotel full of thoughtful restraints, whispering lights, and people who mistook teeth for currency. Then, of course, the invitations came - some were written in blood, others simply screamed in the hallway - and so our adventure began. We made art. We made messes. We made decisions. I wrote it all down, in case reality ever comes back and wants an explanation. If you're here for meaning, you might find something. If you're here for structure, bring glue. If you're here by accident... don't tell the nurses. Yours in enthusiasm, Lord Stabs-a-Lot (Knight of the Unhinged Order, Professional Hug Dealer, Former Anatomy Puzzle Champion) --------------- ⚠️ Disclaimer (From Lord Stabs-a-Lot Himself): Everything in this book is fictional. Especially the parts that feel too specific. All characters, events, names, anatomical stunts, and emotional confetti are completely made up and not based on anyone living, dead, or melting. This book contains absurdist horror, dark comedy, disturbing imagery, and cheerful violence told from the perspective of someone who probably should not be allowed pens. Reader discretion is advised. Especially if you're made of meat.

Merl is a pipe-smoking, Dickens-loving, overweight academic who just wants to be left alone to read in peace. But when a slow-moving, feces-spawning pandemic wipes out most of humanity and culminates in a full-on zombie apocalypse, Merl has no choice but to rise from his velvet settee, grab his trusty sledgehammer, and defend what remains of his quiet, tweed-coated life. Told in Merl's hilariously rambling voice, this short story is a mashup of zombie horror, literary satire, and unapologetic absurdity. Think Shaun of the Dead meets A Tale of Two Cities-with more gray turds and fewer surviving neighbors. A 5,000-word dark comedy about survival, solitude, and smashing the undead.

"The Plant is not a place; it is an organism." Eight levels. Eight stories. One concrete memory failing at 324 beats per minute. Or maybe less. It depends on who is staring at the terminal. You can enter from the Foundations, where the concrete drinks blood like it's parched, or watch the monolith from the Outside. The elevator is broken, time is a glitch, and the bureaucracy at Level +1 is producing paper while the heart at Level -1 is dying. Read it in any order. Choose your floor. Survive the architecture. Italian Edition available here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/410199952-la-centrale

A museum night attendant checks a humidity alert in the textile wing and finds the Ashby Dress breathing inside its glass case. The building hums; rust blooms; the dress asks a simple thing-Wear me. Ruth steps across the line between conservation and use, consent stitched bead-click by bead-click, and learns there are only two honest choices: rust out or wear out. Quiet, intimate haunt-not gore but heat, memory, and the ethics of touch. Liminal, sensual, human-first horror. Content note: sensuality/consent themes; no explicit sex, no gore.

The Unseen Abyss is a cosmic horror story that draws inspiration from the works of Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft. It tells the tale of a small town on the edge of the world, where a strange ship appears on the horizon and disgorges a crew of twisted, inhuman figures.

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Czasami wydaje mi się, że wszystko wokół drży, jakby zaraz miało się rozpaść. Zatrzymuję się wtedy i czekam, aż ściany zaczną pękać, dojdzie do katastrofy, a potem spod ruin zacznie wyzierać jedyna, najwyższa i najprawdziwsza Prawda. Boję się tylko, że będzie czarna jak smoła i wcale nas nie wyzwoli.

Some hatches should never be opened. Arthur was just another urban explorer chasing the thrill of abandoned places - until he found the hatch on the Scottish cliffs. Heavy, rusted, and half-buried in the earth, it shouldn't have opened. But it did. Beneath it lies the forgotten remains of a Cold War facility and of the Thalassian Order. Something still lurks inside that remembers the people who left it behind. Now Arthur is trapped in a nightmare of flickering lights, collapsing tunnels, and whispers that never stop. His only hope is to go deeper. Because whatever lives in the Vessel doesn't want him to leave.

A reporter investigates the sudden disappearance of a young girl, only to find a family and their house might play a bigger part than they let on. Includes an author's note on the story.

Rowan Mercer has always noticed things other people don't. The crack in a classroom ceiling that looks like a river. The exact number of steps between home and school. The strange student standing alone at the edge of the playground. Nobody else seems to notice him. Then one day, the student vanishes. Not just from school. From everything. Teachers don't remember him. Students don't remember him. Even school records say he never existed. As Rowan searches for answers, they uncover a terrifying secret hidden beneath their town. Shadow-like creatures known as Hollow Ones feed on forgotten memories, lost identities, and the parts of ourselves we hide from the world. Now Rowan must face monsters that erase people from existence while struggling with anxiety, depression, friendship, and the impossible question of who they really are. Because the more Rowan learns about the Hollow Ones... The more they begin to realize the creatures have been watching them all along.